A Scarf and a Trick
by name here please
Summary: It's cold, and Derek loans Stiles his scarf. Why does he think it's such a big deal, cause it totally isn't a big deal-right?


It was cold.

Like, really, extremely, freeze your face so you can't speak and your words come out slurred like you broke your jaw cold.

Not that he didn't do it anyway. Speak, that is. Who knew waiting for Scott to bring Allison to a pack meeting in the woods would be so darn boring?

Not to mention cold.

"Really, guys, I'm a poor, defenseless human who does not radiate heat like a portable heater, okay? If Scott doesn't get here in two minutes, I'm done. I'm leaving."

Isaac gives a very obvious eye roll. "That's what you said two minutes ago. And five before that. And ten before that. Just shut up already, really Stilinski."

"That is incredibly rude Isaac. You should apologize. Derek," he turned to face the man, who looked ridiculously warm in his leather jacket and a blue scarf Cora had forced on him. "Make Isaac apologize."

Derek didn't even have the decency to look like he cared; he didn't even shift his line of sight from where he was staring (with severe angst, thank you McBrood Wolf) into the trees as he said, "Isaac, don't tell Stiles to shut up. Stiles, for the love of God, shut up."

Well then. He sees how it is. Fine, I guess it was fair, as Stiles was a firm believer that talking made the time pass by more quickly. He probably was a little annoying.

But still...

"Really guys, you don't even need your jackets, yet you're still wearing them. And here I am, about to get hypothermia, and you can probably smell it-"

"You aren't getting hypothermia, Stiles." Thank you again, Derek, for interrupting. Not like that's rude or anything.

"Not yet, but it's coming. Already I can't feel my hands, and are my toes even part of me anymore? I'm getting a permanent chill. . . it's so cold. . ."

Derek growled as he stood, and oh god he was totally going to shove Stiles against the car. What's wrong with him, why is he getting turned on by the thought of being pressed to a car by Derek Hale?

No, he's coming closer. Stiles needs to control himself right now, this minute as Derek's hands are...

Offering him his scarf?

Stiles stares blankly for a long moment, not comprehending. "Are you...showing me what I'll be strangled with? Cause that's a bit sadistic, even for you."

Derek huffs again, but there's a tiny uplift to the corner of his mouth. "It's a scarf, Stiles. For warmth." And now he's wrapping the soft blue fabric carefully around Stiles' neck, and he can feel Derek's fingers brush his skin and he can smell the odd spice and lemon zest combination that is pure Derek...

"Oh." Blink. Blink. Breathe, Stiles. Blinkblink."Thanks." Dear god where did the air go?

And now Scott is here, and of course he and Allison are sharing looks and making Isaac feel left out, so Isaac is attempting to join in, and suddenly this supposed pack meeting is another Scott/Allison/Isaac googly eyes fest as Derek and Stiles are left to look on and feel uncomfortable. Normally in this situation, Stiles would crack several (purposely awful) jokes until the threesome realized that no, the world does not actually dissolve away when they are together, and the rest of us are here to actually discuss the new baddies threatening the town. But at this moment in time, Stiles is too focused on rubbing the edge of this scarf between his fingers and wondering if he'd be able to sneak it back home with him and sleep with it every night without being a creeper, so Derek takes it upon himself to growl and glower until the meeting is finally able to move forward.

/

It's barely thirty minutes later and they're leaving (Scott, Allison, and Isaac couldn't keep their hands off each other any longer, apparently, and Derek looked like he was choking under the sexual tension in the air). Stiles is almost in his jeep and entirely ready to go home and be warm when he hears Derek make a noise behind him.

With a deep, long suffering sigh, Stiles turns around. "What, did you lose something, Derek? Perhaps your soul, or the key that unlocks your emotions?"

Derek completely ignores this remark (which, rude) and just continues to stare at Stiles. "You're still wearing my scarf."

Oh.

And yeah, he was expecting this cause he totally knew he was still wearing it, cause who could ignore the smell of Derek and something that he has worn around his neck and it's been on his _skin, for god's sake, _ so excuse him for not being eager to return it. "Ah, yeah, I was just. . . I was gonna wash it, you know, before I gave it back to you." At the doubt-filled stare he receives, he quickly begins to unwind it from around his neck. "But here, if you don't mind the scent of Stiles, you can totally take it—"

"Stiles." And when he looks up again, wow, Derek is suddenly much closer and what color even are his eyes, that's just not fair— "Stiles, you can keep the scarf." The cheers of relief sounding through Stiles' head are soon shut down when Derek gets a slightly evil (yet still hot, like how even is he _real_) look and says, "that is, of course, if you say you want it. To my face. Right now."

And _oh._

Cause now in his seconds of silence, Derek has started to lean in closer to him, and it isn't long before their lips are bare millimeters apart and he can feel each exhale of breath across his face. "Come on Stiles," The warmth is spreading throughout his body now, making his toes and fingers tingle and how was he ever cold?

Stiles' lips have parted now, and he's pretty confident he isn't breathing anymore, but he finally, finally chokes out the words (with Derek's bottom lip brushing against his with every word), "I'd really like to take your scarf home with me."

There's a small smile on Derek's face, and Stiles may have begun to lean forward when Derek suddenly isn't there, and neither is the scarf that he thought his fingers had been desperately clutching. Stiles blinks rapidly, trying to figure out what the hell has just happened when he sees Derek waving from his Camaro, scarf in hand as he drives away.

Stiles has finally managed to get home, and it's only after he has been laying on his bed for 10 minutes that he notices the soft blue fabric tossed across his desk, a note firmly attached with a safety pin. When Stiles finally crosses the room to read it, he wonders whether to laugh or throw something, before settling on a smiles and a head shake, before heading to bed—with the scarf, of course.

_Stiles,_

_That was payback for zoning out and leaving me to face Scallisaac on my own. Keep your head together next time_ _and we might get to finish that next time._

_Derek._


End file.
